Weights and Measures
by klcarr892
Summary: 5x16 tag *spoilers*


_A/N For those of you waiting on an update to "Butterflies", it's coming. I've decided to finish writing the whole thing and then you won't have to wait so long between each chapter. I have one chapter left to write so it is coming, I promise._

_In the meantime, this came to me at work today so I hope you enjoy._

_Again, spoilers for 5x16 (mainly just the ending)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own TM or else I would know what in tarnation is going on. I'm as confused as the rest of y'all._

* * *

Weights and Measures

She didn't want to be here. Not tonight. Not after everything that had happened over the past week, heck the past year. Her head told her to go home, sleep away what was left of this horrible night and then start afresh in the morning but her heart brought her here. It often directed her to this very spot, the coldest and darkest recess the building had to offer.

Lisbon could hear nothing in the silence. She knocked once on the cold metal door but got no reply. She couldn't help wonder if this dreary alcove was equivalent to the space in her consultant's memory palace that held all of his darkest secrets and memories. She wondered if it too was kept locked tight so no one would unsuspectedly traipse upon to its hidden contents. Thankfully, at least one of those rooms was unlocked.

The silence was broken by the wail of the door as it protested under Lisbon's guiding but eventually, it opened. Unsurprising, the room was blanketed in blackness save for the dull glow of the city streaming through the foggy wall of windows.

She glanced first to the cot, with its blankets scattered every which way, unoccupied. Her eyes then swept throughout the rest of the room as a cool draft brought goosebumps to Lisbon's fair skin. She almost retreated, out of the darkness and chilled air and she would have missed him altogether if it wasn't for the glint of street light that reflected off the glass bottle near his slumped form.

Jane didn't drink often but when he did, he didn't hold back. With her target spotted, Lisbon walked over, her heels echoing off the glass panes. She could see there was maybe an inch of liquid left in the bottle and she figured he had passed out before downing the last of it.

She recalled the same thing happening to her father on occasion though the leftovers would never go to waste. If Lisbon didn't find and discard the remaining liquid before he woke up, he would add it to either his morning coffee or orange juice but where her father had gone for quantity, Jane chose quality. Lisbon figured the price tag on the bottle of whisky to cost nearly two bills.

She squatted, to reassure herself that Jane was simply sleeping off the alcohol. She spotted the knife when she turned on her phone's screen to get a better look. It was a small pocket knife with its blade still in the open position.

Lisbon momentarily panicked, scanning the man head to toe with her small phone light to spot injuries but Jane appeared unharmed. She moved the phone above Jane's slumbering form and spotted the letters, pairs of them. There must have been over thirty sets, all of them appearing to have been etched in the wooden beam at different times. She scrolled through them and wasn't sure of their meaning until she got to the last pair: LM, freshly carved into the wood.

These were Jane's losses, Lisbon realized, the initials of people whose lives Jane had been responsible for, or so he thought. Above, Lorelei's initials Lisbon read "LW", Luther Wainwright. She had been up her dozens, even, hundreds of times and she had never noticed this. The beam was well hidden to the right of the windows, in the shadows. She traced the letters with her fingers, feeling the deep grooves in wood as well as in her heart. She could picture Jane sitting up here in the darkness, carving the letters so that they wouldn't just be tucked away in the darkest nook of his memory palace but also, here in a more permanent display.

Miners who work deep underground in the darkest depths where no rays of sunlight can possibly penetrate the many layers of earth and rock, insist that light can be found. Some call it lost light because even though no one can explain it, many people testify to have experienced this light seemingly trapped in the belly of the Earth inside of these tunnels. Maybe that's why Lisbon had been led here, again, despite all of her instincts telling her that it wasn't a good idea. Maybe she was the lost light that no one else seemed to be able to find, trapped inside Jane's very soul.

* * *

He wasn't sure what woke him first, the blinding sunlight streaming through the windows or the intense pounding inside of his head like the beat of an African drum. Either way, he groaned and rolled defensively away from the sunshine, shielding his eyes with his forearm. It took a few minutes but Jane eventually managed to sit up without the world spinning away on its axis. The blanket draped across his shoulders fell to his waist, as he stretched. He ached from sleeping on the floor but was surprised to find a pillow under his head and the blanket keeping him from the chill.

When he noticed the bottle missing, he could only assume Lisbon had found him in his dire state and done what she always did though he was well aware he didn't deserve an ounce of her kindness. Still, it warmed his insides to realize he hadn't yet pushed her completely over the edge.

He managed to find his feet and stumbled over to his cot where he found a bottle of aspirin, his pocket knife, and a note. It was lengthy with multiple pages.

_Jane,_

_How's the head? The aspirin should kick in in about half an hour. _

_I freaked out a little when I spotted your pocket knife open on the floor but then I found the initials you have carved into the wall. I wonder when this little display of yours started but that's hardly the point._

_You've only every been able to see one side of things Jane and I understand that's partly if not mostly due to the guilt you carry on your shoulders every day. If you really stopped to think about it though, you'd realize, you're not exactly being fair with yourself. I could stand here and argue until I'm blue in the face that Red John's targets are not your fault but I know you'll never listen to me. Instead, I decided to even the scales a bit._

_Walk over to the other side of your window. Take your pocket knife with you. I've started the work for you but I'm not going to do everything. I did, however make a list for you to reference. I've crossed out the one's I've already completed but the rest is up to you. You see, you may have a list of names but I have one too only mine isn't a list of names whose deaths you feel you're responsible for. My list is all the lives that are not lost today because of you. You may think you're a danger to everyone around you but in all actuality, more people are alive today because of you than the contrary. For every name you have on your side, I could write at least a dozen on mine. _

_You probably should get started. It's a long list._

_Lisbon_

Jane stared in awe at the initials already carved into the wood. He flipped to the next page in his hand where the names begin, noticing the last name Lisbon had crossed off: MP, Maya Plaskett. He remembered when they had found her in that root cellar. Lisbon had tried to convince him that her rescue made the operation worth it even though Red John had escaped. At the time, he hadn't felt the same but looking down at the list again, he realized that there was something to the fact that these people were alive, especially the next person on his list.

Jane was horrified to think of the day when he would have to inscribe those initials on the other side of the window, with his list of losses. That one set of initials would tip the scales in such a way that no amount of lives saved could possibly make up for this one loss but for now, it was a win. A big win.

Jane opened the knife and began to carve the initials, TL.

_Finis._


End file.
